What a happy accident.
In my life, the only accidents that happen are Three Stooges-type affairs or ones that require lots of insurance forms and stitches in places no one wants them.
Come to think of it: One time, I had a huge splinter in my left butt cheek but no one but my dad to yank it out. Picture it: Old Rambler with plywood flooring + Wendy + last minute short stop due to speeding = big-time splinter in behind.
Don't know if he remembers. But I do. I was maybe all of eight. But even an eight-year old doesn't enjoy bending over the toilet with daddy-o behind you toting a huge flashlight and tweezers.
But this one. This happy accident. It's all about seeing a pic in a magazine, casting on and dreaming of your wonderful mom who didn't like tight things. I don't like things that fit too tightly, either, but I wanted something that had that look. So, there you go.